


Accountability

by April_Valentine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 800 Word Challenge, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rickyl Writer's Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for episode 6:06, "Always Accountable" -- Daryl gets back to Alexandria with Sasha and Abraham.  He's hurting physically and emotionally, self-confidence shattered.</p><p>There really are exactly 800 words in this fic. The Archive was acting wonky and crashing while I was trying to upload it and though my document has 800 words and when it first uploaded here, the Archive word count said 800, by the time it got added to the collection and showed up in the tag, it lost 3 words. Believe me, I could have used those 3 words last night!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accountability

Daryl drove through the gates, concentrating only getting the big vehicle parked, blocking out the faces and voices approaching from all sides. The noise and press of bodies made him cringe; it took all he had to keep his head up and his expression neutral as they welcomed him, Sasha and Abraham back to Alexandria.

He pulled the brake and paid more attention to the squeaks and grumbles of the truck than he did the voices. He was so damn tired. All he wanted was to be alone.

Abraham climbed out, grinning and nodding like a victorious soldier home from the wars. Sasha glanced Daryl’s way.

“You okay?” 

Daryl just grunted, trying to make it sound at least somewhat affirmative, adding a brief nod without meeting her eyes. 

“You should go get your arm looked at.” 

“Yeah.” Once she mentioned his injury, it woke up and made itself known again, pain running from his elbow to his wrist. The bleeding had stopped, or mostly, he guessed. He really just wanted to find his bed and sleep for a week.

“Any sign of Glenn?” 

That was Maggie’s voice, worried, fraught with tension. Daryl had thought that Glenn and the others would have gotten back hours ago. 

He looked up through the strands of his hair, Maggie’s worried face coming into view. 

“We didn’t see him,” Abraham answered. “Didn’t he get back?”

“We got separated.” That was Michonne. “Nobody’s heard from Glenn and Nicholas.”

Suddenly, Daryl had more to worry about than his own fatigue. He stepped down from the truck, pinning Michonne with his gaze.

“Rick?” 

He didn’t even try to keep the fear from his voice. His heart constricted, his head started pounding. The rest of the world seemed to go silent, fogged over as if gray clouds had suddenly floated to the ground, enveloping the town in muggy cotton.

“He’s okay.” A soft hand touched his shoulder.

Daryl turned and met Carol’s gaze. He felt like he could breathe again, but he couldn’t get any more words out. He just looked at her helplessly.

“He got back a few hours ago. He ran into some trouble – just like we all did. But he’s okay.” There were some other words, but he didn’t hear them. She stopped, smiled encouragingly. “He’s at the house.”

Daryl nodded but wasn’t ready to talk to Rick yet. Wasn’t sure if or when he would be. He felt hollow, burned out like the forest he’d been in, like the charred remains of walkers, only able to lay on the ground with weakly reaching arms. 

The only thing that mattered was that Rick was here. Safe. Unharmed. 

He turned back to the cab of the truck. Stopped. Remembered. His gut twisted. There was no crossbow to pick up and carry. He felt naked without it, wounded, cut to his core.

He kept his face blank as he turned back. He was able to just flick his eyes up to Carol’s for a second, then his gaze dropped to the ground. 

The sympathy in her eyes was too much for him to bear. 

She glanced at his bloody hand. “You’re hurt?”

“S’nothin’.” He started to leave, though he had no idea which direction he should be going.

Sasha’s voice came then. “He should go have Denise look at it.” Michonne was moving toward him. Carol stepped closer. Maggie was approaching too.

“M’fine, damnit!” He pushed past them, their concern making him feel sick inside.

“Daryl… “ Carol’s voice was urgent, but he ignored her. He strode away, directionless, needing to be where no one could look at him.

A few words wafted back to him: _his motorcycle?_ stood out the most. He cradled his left arm against his chest, doing his best to block out the voices, steel himself against the eyes following him. 

“Daryl!”

He stopped. Couldn’t turn. Didn’t want to see the disappointment in Rick’s eyes. He’d failed him. He’d tried to ask the questions right, but he’d crashed and burned, been robbed of more than his possessions. 

His head hurt. His stomach was in knots. The shame was overwhelming.

Then Rick was there. Too close. Daryl couldn’t help himself. He looked up.

Rick’s eyes were soft, compassionate. 

“We don’t have to talk. Just let me take you home.”

The world fell away. Nothing existed but the two of them.

Daryl let Rick pull him close.

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Rick kissed his cheek, his lips. 

Daryl couldn’t speak, didn’t deserve Rick’s embrace. But he clutched at Rick’s shirt with his good hand, shaking, dizzy.

Later, he was bandaged, fed, smiled at. Tucked into bed. Rick hovered, holding his hand. Daryl felt distanced from the comfort, unworthy. Everything had changed, gotten lost, broken. 

“We’ll fix this.”

Daryl really didn’t think so.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Rickyl Writers Group November 800 Word Challenge. Sorry it's not very happy. It was inspired by comments Norman Reedus made about Daryl's feelings in the episode.


End file.
